


Holy

by AvengedInk



Series: Pvris [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4380785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengedInk/pseuds/AvengedInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, you've never known you're a poor unfortunate soul. Don't think I didn't notice </p>
<p>Or </p>
<p>Clexa one-shot based on the song 'Holy' by Pvris</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy

"Up to your bedroom. This instant." 

The calculated fury in her mother's voice left no room for argument, so Lexa turned on heel and marched up the stairway as quickly as she could, shaky fingers tracing the polished banister. 

Her legs were like jello and she was trembling all over, whether it was from anger or fear or adrenaline she did not know. Her backpack and everything in it had been confiscated so she was left with just her thoughts. 

There was an urge to slam her door, but it was ignored. It was childish and immature and an invitation for another exchange of words with her mother; the door shut securely with a since of finality. 

Lexa's bedroom was so still, the calm space untouched by the disturbance downstairs. It was a stark contrast. Her white walls were lined with bookshelves, carefully organized and dusted. Maybe if she didn't live in such a controlled environment it would be different - books would be strewn across her bed, each open to a different page, the lightbulb in her reading lamp flickering occasionally from overuse. The scent of parchment and lavender candles would permeate the air. There was nowhere in this house that was distinctly Lexa's. 

She lowered herself onto her bed slowly, lifting her legs up and hugging her knees before pressing her face into her pillow that smelled faintly of laundry detergent. The numbness was wearing off and a sense of foreboding replaced it. What would happen to her? Would her mother kick her out? 

Maybe things would be better with the Griffins. 

Lexa had no doubts that they would take her in. Her girlfriend's parents lived a couple streets over in a quaint but upkept two-story house surrounded by a perfect white picket fence that symbolized their perfect, nice life. 

She had met them first in the middle of her junior year, when she and Clarke were still "friends", her struggle with her sexuality more evident. Lexa's upbringing had refused to let her call them "just Abby and Jake, dear" as Mrs. Griffin had said, a smile stretching the skin tight around her kind eyes. 

The more time she spent there the larger the pit in her stomach grew. It was jealousy. The way Mr. Griffin was always home in time for dinner, the way Mrs. Griffin never failed to ask how her day had been. 

She had always been under the notion that life would never be that good for her, the only real family she had weren't even her own blood. Indra and Gus could only do so much for her while still working for her parents. But Clarke had torn down her walls and rearranged her beliefs and planted this seed of hope inside her that burned almost constantly. The Griffins could be her family. They were her family, as far as Clarke was concerned. 

And Lexa thought back to her mother - tight, greying hair always pulled into a meticulous bun. Face absent of smile lines, eyes sunk into her head with age but still as steely as ever. A penetrating grey-green that Lexa had inherited with much trepidation. 

Today had started off like any other. 

Up at Indra's gentle request, showered, dressed, hair braided back and eyeliner applied. Sure, she was a little tired, she had been awake into the early morning typing a literature essay on Alfred Lord Tennyson, but Lexa had been groomed to function even with the absence of sleep.

Breakfast always made her sick, so that was skipped.

Into her silver BMW and out of the driveway long after her mother was gone to work. And, as expected of her, she pulled out into the road in the direction of Neil A. Armstrong Highschool, nicknamed The Ark. 

But she had deviated from her schedule, turning right onto the Griffins' street and parking in front of their house. Before she could exit the vehicle and give several cautious knocks to their red-painted door, a flash of blonde hair caught her attention.

Clarke had practically flew out the gate, yelling "Yes, mom!"s and " I love you, too"s over her shoulder. Soft lips met her right cheek as her girlfriend tossed her bag in the back and buckled her seatbelt, practically vibrating with energy. 

The car turned out the drive in the opposite direction of their school. 

Clarke fastened rainbow badges to each of their shirts on the way downtown, and gave her usual morning remarks that always brought a blush to Lexa's face. 

And the day had progressed in a similar fashion, Clarke's arm tight around Lexa's waist as she guided her through the crowded street. Public displays of affection that normally made her anxious now drew hesistant smiles from the brunette. The music was loud and booming and far too mainstream for Lexa's taste, but she couldn't bring herself to dislike it when Clarke was dancing so wildly and grinning so broadly, as if there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be. 

It was all flushed, red faces and hot breath on her neck. A sweaty palm in hers that somehow did not bother her and the bright, yellow sun on her back. An easy-going atmosphere and blonde hair spilling across her chest in rivulets whenever Clarke stumbled. The muscles in her face had never been so sore. 

She thought she was safe when she walked through the threshold. She had tamed her wild brown curls and wiped the sweat off her brow, though Clarke's perfume still lingered. 

10 minutes passed without a glance from her mother. 

But when it did happen, steel eyes zeroed in on her shoulder to the rainbow badge pinned to her shirt.

And here she was, considering smothering herself with her own pillow, hot tears at the corner of her eyes threatening to spill over. 

A breeze from her open window sent chills across her back and she rose, so suddenly she almost fell over. 

Shadows were cast about her room in long, rectangular shapes. The sun winked at her as it disappeared over the horizon.

Lexa dug through her wardrobe for a sweatshirt, throwing it onto her back and stuffing her arms into its warmth. No cellphone or any contact with the outside world, and she'd be willing to bet that her mother had locked her door from the outside. 

Those familiar feelings of resentment bubbled up inside of her, and she all but flung herself from the window. It was far less graceful than imagined as she fell from a story up, and she landed with a jarring thud, momentum spilling her foreword and onto her face. She brought her hand to her chin and her fingers were met with warm, sticky blood. 

She peered up at her open window. 

No going back now. No, she would not voluntarily set another foot in that house. The ceilings were too high, the living area too bare. A very crucified Jesus Christ was on every wall, seemingly leering at her. 

Lexa set a quick pace down the street, no passerby to stare at the girl with the abundance of brown hair and the scrape on her chin, eyes still red from crying. 

She stopped just inside the fence and wondered at her decision for the first time. Her mother never left room for a rebellious stage, and no, Lexa Woods did not usually show up at someone's house unannounced. 

So she awkwardly stepped over the line of rosebushes and to the side of the house where she knew Clarke's window was, stalling a moment outside of it before rapping her knuckles against the glass. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times, and maybe the blonde was sleeping, or in another room? 

Relief washed over her when the red curtains were yanked back and her girlfriend's gentle face appeared, washed in post-dusk light and tinged with surprise. 

The window was opened and Lexa was offered a wordless invitation. She grasped the siding of the house and vaulted herself into the room, breath coming out heavy and suddenly aware that she was sweaty and bloody and dishelved. 

Clarke eyed her with measured concern, but didn't speak, instead leading her to the bathroom and flicking on a bright, flourescent light. She cleaned and bandaged Lexa's chin, taking extra time to caress the sides of her face with a damp washcloth. Clarke's eyes were a darker shade of blue, and maybe the reason she hadn't asked is because she already knew the answer, maybe there was a hint of anger. But it wasn't directed at the brunette. 

No, just being in the same vicinity as Clarke always left Lexa awash with the feeling of security. It was all parts new and unfamiliar. She felt like she was home. 

So the silence was comfortable and Lexa was content with studying the patterns in the blonde's eyes, the slope of her nose, the little whisps of hair that had escaped being pulled back into a ponytail. And Clarke worried her bottom lip, as was a habit of hers, and her free hand reached back to tuck the hair behind her ears, but mostly she lost herself in the soft emerald hues of Lexa's eyes that were in no way harsh like her mother's, and in every way quietly beautiful like Lexa herself. 

When she was done, the light was shut back off, and Clarke pulled Lexa along behind her as she had that day at the festival. 

Clarke's bed dipped slightly under the weight of two people. The blankets coccooned around them, but Lexa mostly brushed them aside in favor of the blonde's embrace. It was a mess of limbs and hair and maybe sort of uncomfortably warm, but it slowed her heartbeat and evened her breathing and was something akin to magic.

Her mind was all at once at ease, because there's no way her feelings in that moment were sin. Sin didn't feel so right. 

The blonde's pillow smelled of peach and cocunut and love, if that could be conveyed through scent. 

Sleep was descending on her, and she was held closer than she ever had been before. Lexa's dreams-that-were-not-dreams: Clarke's lips against her temple, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo much writing today. Any comment is greatly appreciated. x


End file.
